The Thin Line
by RedShoebox
Summary: Ernie and Bert are now a couple, but they are constantly ridiculed and hated by everyone else on the Street. Ernie gets fed up and decides to take matters in to his own hands- by taking his own life. Ernie/Bert. Rated for violence. REVIEW PLEASE.


He confessed. He confided. He admitted.

And Bert didn't hate him. Actually, he had felt the same way. They confided in each other. Then they were together and happy.

Everyone else wasn't. Whenever he would walk down the Street, with or without Bert, people would look at them in disgust and confusion. Whenever he got something in the mail, there was always some nasty letter sent to him.

Bert would always say: "Don't listen to them, Ernie. They're just words." But they hurt. That's what the whole point was. People were trying to hurt him.

And they succeeded.

He never could sleep at night after the whole incident where Elmo started talking trash about them. Nor could he sleep after the big fight he and Elmo got into. All he could think about the words that were said to him.

"Disgusting."

"Revolting."

"Shameful."

Just to name a few. But the most often heard statement hurt him the most:

"Faggot."

The word hurt him, not because of what it meant, but because of how many times people said it. It was quantity over quality in this case.

He remembered what people used to call him: "Nice," "Funny," and "Friendly" were among the most popular. But no. Now it was just…

"Faggot."

One day, before his bath, Ernie searched the bathroom frantically for the thing. The 'thing' could've been anything, anywhere. It didn't need to be fancy or pretty. It just needed to work.

Then he found it. There it was, up high in the cabinet, hiding from anyone irresponsible, so said irresponsible persons could fail in finding it.

But Ernie found it. And he was going to put it to good use.

He stripped himself of his clothing, and stepped into the sudsy bath water, taking the 'thing' with him.

The 'thing' was shiny, silver, and sharp. The 'thing' was none other than a razorblade. Perhaps the only one in the apartment. Whoever put it there must not have been thinking.

Ernie looked at the razorblade, watching the light reflect off of it. How beautiful it looked, shining in the light. Oh, but how dangerous it was, if it were to get too near to one's skin. Then he remembered, he mustn't cut the wrong way.

What was the right way? Eh, it probably didn't matter anyway. Nothing did now.

Ernie closed his eyes as he pushed the corner of the blade into his wrist. He had to hold back a scream, for if Bert came in and found him cutting himself, he'd throw a fit. 'No roommate of mine is going to walk around with silly scars on his wrist all day,' is probably what he'd say.

Ernie slit his wrist quickly and deeply. The pain made him tear up slightly, but he ignored it. He switched hands and cut the opposite wrist, this time more slowly, but still just as deep. He let the blade fall to the floor, but it made no noise, as the water was still running.

He opened his eyes to see the blood from his wrists swirling in the water. The color was so vivid, as the red in the water gradually got darker and darker. It was just so… interesting to look at. He glanced back up at the ceiling, thinking.

What was it like after death? Was it good? Was it bad?

It didn't matter anymore. Whatever it was that awaited him, in the end it would be much more forgiving than those awful letters. Those awful words. Those awful emotions.

And, most importantly, Bert would be left alone by everyone else. That was the only thing that mattered.

...

Bert walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

"Ernie, you should probably turn the water off now. I don't want the floor to get all wet." Bert said loud enough to be heard through the door. There was no response. "Ernie?" Still no response.

He opened to door, and took two steps inside before coming to a complete halt. Ernie was pale, damp and expressionless. He stared at the ceiling with empty, glassy eyes.

Bert stepped closer, as the sudsy water began to overflow. He looked at the water in the tub. It was a deep shade of red.

Bert gasped. "…Ernie?"

Ernie said nothing. Instead, his eyes, just his eyes, turned to focus on Bert. Almost. Everything was starting to become cloudy and blurry to him, and Bert just looked like a tall, yellow blur. He stared at Bert for a few moments, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he passed out.

Bert gasped as his arms splashed into the murky, red water. He wrapped his arms around the limp yellow figure, lifting him up out of the water, and eventually out of the tub.

Ernie was pale, limp and lifeless. He was also unconscious, wet, and naked. Bert was scared, sickened and confused. He was also short of breath, sweating, and shaky. His shirt and turtleneck was getting stained with blood so badly, but Bert didn't care.

Ernie needed help. That was the only thing that mattered.

...

It was quiet. The only thing he could hear was breathing, and a faint beeping sound. The only thing he could feel was warmth around him, most likely supplied by whatever fabric it was that was on top of him.

Ernie opened his eyes to a blinding brightness that faded away with each blink. His vision focused on an unfamiliar-looking ceiling. He was in a new place. He couldn't remember exactly what happened before then. All he could remember was that his wrists were hurting really badly.

Was he dead? He looked down at his right hand to see an I.V. inserted into it. He followed the narrow line from the needle with his eyes to find a medicine bag and a drip chamber.

He wasn't dead. He was just in a hospital.

He turned his head to one side to see Bert, sitting in a chair next to the bed, looking at his hands. He looked both confused and frightened.

"…Bert?" Ernie said, in a faint voice.

Bert looked directly at Ernie, and his expression changed dramatically. "Ernie? You're okay!" He said, as he bent over in his chair to hug Ernie. His eyes began to tear up. "Oh, Ernie… I thought I lost you…"

"What happened? Why… why am I here?" Ernie asked, voice still faint.

Bert was silent for a few moments. He pulled away from Ernie to look at him. "You mean… you don't remember?" Ernie shook his head. Bert looked down. "…you cut yourself…" He shut his eyes, and swallowed hard. "…and you could've died from blood loss…"

Ernie thought, and tried to remember what happened. Then it hit him. "Oh, Bert… I'm so sorry…"

"Why did you do it, Ernie?" Bert asked.

"Hm?" Ernie didn't quite catch what Bert had said.

"Why did you try to kill yourself?" Bert asked, as his eyes became wet and hot with tears. "…why?"

"I… I just…" Ernie looked at his friend. He had never seen Bert like this. "…are you mad at me?"

"Why would I…? Oh, Ernie…" Bert hugged Ernie again, this time tighter. "Ernie… I love you…"

A bright red blush crept across Ernie's pale face. "I… I'm so sorry, Bert… I just couldn't take it anymore… because everybody hates us, Bert… an-and I… I'm sorry…"

Bert rubbed Ernie's back comfortingly. "It's gonna be okay, Ernie."

"…I bet they're gonna start calling me Emo, too..." Ernie said.

"No, they're not." Bert replied.

"They're not? What makes you say that, Bert?"

"They're going to be sorry for what they said, Ernie. They're gonna find out about what happened, and they are gonna take back everything they said about you."

"…really, Bert?"

"Mm-hm."

And Bert was right. Once the word got out that Ernie had attempted suicide, every felt absolutely awful. Especially Elmo. The people of Sesame Street learned a very powerful message that day.

There's a thin line between insult and injury.

And it was almost too late before they learned that lesson the hard way.

...

A/N: Yeah, I know that was some Emo shit going on there. Eh.

GO REVIEW.


End file.
